


never corner something meaner than you

by Tyranno



Category: River of Teeth - Sarah Gailey
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Other, copious nickname usage, kissin, swamp aesthetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27526150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranno/pseuds/Tyranno
Summary: All the world was dark and still. The air in the swamp was heavier than it should be, like a great cool blanket over them. Orange light painted the great tree roots which rose from the dense mud like arching arms, thick with moss.When Houndstooth breathed in, the air smelled of old water.
Relationships: Winslow Houndstooth/Hero Shackleby
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	never corner something meaner than you

**Author's Note:**

> *  
> *  
> I have written Hero's name as "Hiro" in this fic, because when I finished River of Teeth I assumed that was their name (I listened to the audiobook), when I found out the fact of it I preferred Hiro, and also because there's a strong possibility nobody will read this fic either way ;) so if you're reading this, congrats on beating the odds   
> *  
> *  
> 🦛

All the world was dark and still. The air in the swamp was heavier than it should be, like a great cool blanket over them. Orange light painted the great tree roots which rose from the dense mud like arching arms, thick with moss. 

When Houndstooth breathed in, the air smelled of old water. 

Many years ago now, he had met a woman who had promised to tell him the origin of life for a couple cents. It had seemed like a good deal. She had told him, her voice like a grinding knife, that Eden hadn’t been a green and pleasant English field, complete with a bouquet of lilies for every step Eve took. It had been a swampland. 

At the time, Houndstooth had rolled his eyes. The woman didn’t look rich enough to have ever left Mississippi, let alone be familiar with any green English fields. 

But now—on a dark night like this, he could believe it. Moorlands, grasslands, the icy pacific, the windswept canyons—nothing held the heavy prehistoric feeling of the bayou. The swamp had an ancient heart. 

The buzz of nighttime insects rose just under Houndstooth’s awareness. A wind swirled the hanging vines, but it wasn’t enough to disturb the dark water. He ran a hand over the scratchy stubble on his jawline, as tough as a jack-russel’s guard hairs. 

There was a movement, deep below the black surface of the swamp. Dark patches of algae moved first, and then a huge, glossy black back breached the water, rolling like thick tar from a smooth surface. 

A guttural, heavy huff sent a spray of white water clear. Ruby’s gigantic head lifted, water rolling from her snout. Houndstooth leaned forward and gave her great side a firm smack, and the hippo let out a low groan in greeting. 

She was tired. It took a lot to tire out an animal like Ruby, but it took less now than it did at her prime. Her deep eyes rolled around, scoping out the swamp ahead. At this time of night, she relied mostly on her sense of smell and her little, round ears, which swivelled around on the top of her head. Evidently, she didn’t sense anything amiss in the swamp, and she submerged herself again, the thick water like oil slipping over her. Moonlight gleamed across her slick sides. 

She disappeared again, as surely as a stone slipping into the ocean. 

Fire crackled to life behind Houndstooth, and his head snapped up. The smell of smoke rolled around him, and he breathed in sharply, rolling onto his knees and turning back towards the trees. 

Behind the white burn of the fire, Houndstooth saw Hiro, still draped in the tarp covers. 

“Oh, it’s you,” Houndstooth said, his heart beating hard. 

The stacked fire was contained by a neat circle of stones, resting in a shallow firepit. And anyway, the swamp was so damp and heavy, the fire itself so small and weak, it was difficult to imagine it getting out of control. 

“Were you expecting someone else?” Hiro asked. Their eyes were dark and unreadable, as usual. 

Houndstooth smiled, weakly, “You feelin’ alright?” 

Hiro made a low noise, tipping their head slightly. They flopped back against the soft lichen and wood mulch. Everything in the camp was covered in a fine layer of damp. Houndstooth felt it in every fold of his clothing, like cold sweat. Warmth pressed against Houndstooth’s chin as the fire began to gain strength. He circled it, crouching as he walked. The vines swept low over the tree Hiro leaned against, and Houndstooth had already nearly been beheaded on the ride over by noose-like loops of foliage. 

Hiro watched him approach, black eyes betraying nothing. The folds of their clothing caught the light thrown off from the fire, and their hair looked a shade darker than brown in the orange light. 

Houndstooth knelt next to them, a heavy feeling lifting from his shoulders. 

“Hello, you hear me, sweetheart? You didn’t answer my question,” Houndstooth said, rolling the pet name around his mouth. “How does that gash feel?” 

Hiro’s mouth quirked into a jackal grin. It was a look Houndstooth didn’t enjoy being directed at him—except when he definitely did enjoy it.

Hiro caught his hands. 

Their hands were notched and rough, and very cold. Hiro brought Houndstooth’s hands closer, slipping them under the open front of their grey shirt. 

“You tell me,” Hiro purred, “Sweetheart.” 

Houndstooth was so surprised he almost recoiled. Hiro’s ribcage was startlingly hot, feverishly so, like touching a lit match. Houndstooth didn’t want to press down, but Hiro pulled his hands closer, pressing them flat against the thick, twice-folded bandages. When Houndstooth pressed a little too hard, Hiro let out a low noise, more sigh than groan. 

Houndstooth bent his elbows so he could lean down without escaping Hiro’s grip. 

“You’re a scoundrel,” Houndstooth hissed, his cheeks warm. “You’re really feeling randy after getting torn halfway to Sunday. You should be restin’, not all up in a fetch.” 

They were so close now, Houndstooth could’ve counted every short, straight black eyelash around Hiro’s hooded eyes. Their grin was so wide a chipped corner tooth glinted in the firelight. 

“And you’re a little close for a man that’s talkin’ to leave me cold and lonely,” Hiro said. “Perhaps there’s an ulterior motive to all this pawing and prodding, you think?” 

Hiro tugged him a little closer, loosening the man’s hands from Hiro’s waist. Now Houndstooth had nothing to lean on, and nothing keeping him up but his own old back, and the collection of purple bruises that were complaining over his sides. Planting a hand in the cold mud would’ve felt like an admission of something. 

“You’re impossible,” Houndstooth said. 

Hiro slung a leg around Houndstooth’s back, pushing him down. Houndstooth lurched downwards but managed to put a bracing hand in the folds of Hiro’s tarp blankets to stop him falling forward. 

“You answer me,” Hiro ordered, lowly. 

Houndstooth kissed them deeply. 

Hiro sighed through their nose, their mouth opening immediately. Their mouth was as hot as a brand. Fever, Houndstooth’s mind sparked with the fearful possibilities, infection. But all he found himself doing was dipping lower, dragging his mouth across Hiro’s damp neck, while they let out a white, hot breath which clouded in the cold air. Houndstooth shifted up, cold hands finding places to lean beside Hiro’s body, his skin pressed up against burning skin. Hiro’s hand found the gap between Houndstooth’s neck and shoulder, tugging him lower. 

“Remember your wound, dangerous,” Houndstooth pulled his head back up. 

Hiro huffed and lifted their torso so they could pull out a fold of the tarp, laying it flat on the marshy earth. They gestured with a leg tangled around Houndstooth’s hip and the man followed obediently, rolling over so Hiro could fall against him again, on top this time. Houndstooth caught Hiro’s hips, steadying them. 

In the dark, in the firelight, Hiro was a sight. Sharp, and all angles, the plane of their jawline glowing in the yellow light, the corners of their soft hair a bright white, eyes like two holes. Not quite frightening, but almost. 

Hiro leaned low, and Houndstooth was very, very aware of everywhere their body touched, the press of warmth against warmth, Hiro’s knee settled hard over his groin. 

“I was hopin’ you’d help me forget it,” Hiro said, in a low voice that went straight to Houndstooth’s dick. “Cowboy.” 

Houndstooth was completely speechless. His face flushed, mouth parted.

Hiro’s face cracked into a big grin and they laughed. A hand covered their mouth, “Shit, Winslow. You’re the real randy brute here.” 

Houndstooth flushed, but couldn’t help but grin, “You’re a mean bas’ard.” 

“If you could see your face, Casanova,” Hiro grinned, their eyes glinting darkly. 

The nickname had Houndstooth helpless. It was like when he was thrown from Ruby’s saddle, flat on his back and completely breathless. His heart thundered. 

“Shut up and fuck me already,” Houndstooth groaned. A man could only take so much teasing. 

“Awright,” Hiro purred, shifting their weight and putting their hands on the man below them.


End file.
